


130 Prompts #10 - Who Am I?

by FountainPenguin



Series: Blue Train [9]
Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: Baking, Family Fluff, Flirting, Gen, Multiple Personalities, Terrible Twos, anti-fairies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FountainPenguin/pseuds/FountainPenguin
Summary: Takes place during the episode "The Terrible Twosome". Foop, afflicted on and off by the Terrific Twos, comes home to make cookies and lemonade with his parents' help.





	130 Prompts #10 - Who Am I?

**Author's Note:**

> Will possibly need to retcon a few things from this piece. In this Prompt, Anti-Cosmo mentions the Barrier being up. Further worldbuilding has revealed to me that it went down after Power Hour, and would therefore be down in this Prompt. Anti-Cosmo also refers to Foop's alternate personality, Hiccup, as "a goody-two-shoed brat," which conflicts with later (chronologically earlier) information in the Prompt "Not All the Same". I'm still working out the kinks here.

**10\. Who Am I?**  ("The Terrible Twosome")

_Year of Love; Summer of the Frozen Planet (Thawing)_

* * *

Anti-Cosmo had decided not to tell his wife that the world was going to end in fifteen minutes. He flipped to the next channel the instant he processed the rustling wings beyond the stone archway and whirled around. The TV remote he hid behind his back.

"Good evening, Clarice. I mean. My darling fruit-breathed p _rrr_ incess. And it's… fairly early in the morning. Dear me. What are you doing here in the den today, with me, who is your husband?"

She blinked two large, innocent eyes at him. "Whatcha watchin', hon?"

"Um." He checked over his shoulder. "The 'All My Biceps' Season 6 marathon? Oh, drat. I'll just-"

"I wanna see!" she cried, leaping at his shoulders. Anti-Cosmo switched the remote to his left hand and used his right to re-center her balance.

"I-I'll have you know, I did not make a special guest star appearance on Episode 17, no matter what your sister's counterpart says of me. Dear? Dear, sharp toe claws. In my eye. My good eye. Don't scratch the monocle- Blasted high-cholesterol rats, and now I can't see at all. Sweetest, could you please just-?"

Anti-Wanda wasn't listening anymore. Short attention span or respect or call of duty, she'd already sprung back into the air. Plucking up a round red pillow with her clawed foot, she scratched her head. "Ah thought I heard Foop cryin' 'round here someplace."

"C _rrr_ ying? How simply absurd! We ought to take you in to have your poor unpointed ears checked again. Foop does not cry, dearest."

A sniffling wail splintered the air. Anti-Wanda bolted through the far doorway. As his fur bristled up with alarmed static, Anti-Cosmo grabbed his monocle from where it dangled on its cord and swept after her. He ran straight into her back when she pulled up, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Heaven a' bestie ef efs friends foreverers."

Foop stood there on the marble dining room floor in front of the ever-roaring fireplace, dressed in the fluffiest parka Anti-Cosmo had seen since he was perhaps twenty thousand years old- more purple than his enormous, reddening eyes. His body sagged forward, and his left hand snuck across his body to prick its talons in his right elbow.

Mother and father exchanged glances as they pulled themselves back into the air. Anti-Wanda's big-toe-scratching-at-cheek glance said,  _May I, sweetie, or wouldya like ta have the opportunity for soothin' the poor thang first?_  Anti-Cosmo's shoulders-jerked-up-to-ears glance said,  _What above Earth is this creepy little blue sponge thing that has replaced my independent rebellious child he is better than this please get rid of it and set out a bowl of cream and lock the door it has no place here in my castle this was not in my plan I did not sign up for this._

Fortunately, dim as she could be at times, Anti-Wanda took her cue. She took the awkward baby in her feet and flipped him into the air. He landed in her hug. "Foop?"

His square face lit like Fairy World's Big Wand. "Mother!" His arms went around her neck, and his lips pressed against her cheek. "I love you just as much as I love a few of my other favorite things, such as gumdrops and colorful sugar sprinkles. I know it sounds strange, but sometimes I love you even more than them too!" Then he jerked back, spitting, and attempted to shove his way from her grip. He pushed so hard that he swung down like the ticking pendulum of a grandfather clock, and all of a sudden he was dangling by one foot from Anti-Wanda's hand. "By the name of some important person I was probably supposed to be paying attention to in school,  _why must I suffer this way_?"

Anti-Cosmo dropped to the floor specifically so he could take a step back. He lifted one claw. "What… what is wrong with him? Is he fighting with Hiccup for dominance again? Oh, bother it all. I thought we'd finally shaken the goody-two-shoed b _rrr_ at."

"Hmm…" Anti-Wanda rubbed her chin. Then she licked his cheek just below his ear, slowly. Eiyeh.

"Gasping sounds! Egads, Mother! Your tongue scrapes across my skin like sandpaper, and your breath smells about the same. It's rather pleasant, actually. Like a brisk autumn stroll through the quiet woodlands."

Beaming, Anti-Wanda faced her twitching husband again. "Aha, I thought so's. Our li'l pup's growin' up on us so big'n quick, and he's gone and caught his Terrific Twos off his counterface guy. Ah guess their bodies is still agin' all funny after that whole time-frozened business."

"The… 'Terrific Twos'?"

"'Course!" She nuzzled Foop with her nose, and he nuzzled back with a coo. "Why, you may-a' been the last a' the anti-fairy babies, hon, but there's other types a' Anti-Fairy underspecies than us, and with all that readin' ya do, Ah'm sure ya gotta know what the Terrific Twos is, don't ya?"

" _Pfft_. Well, obviously I would. Who is High Count around these parts? The High Count knows these things." While Foop intermittently tried to injure and salvage his mother's feelings, he slipped his pocket watch into his hand. Thirteen minutes until Earth would freeze in a solid ice brick. And still no word from Cosmo. Idiotic buffoon- Could he not comprehend how his counterpart fretted about him and his family when destruction was raging like this? He'd planned a potluck on Thursday and tonight would be a rather inconvenient time to perish. Even if it did get him out of choking down Anti-Blonda's undead shrew soup.

Fairy-Cosmo and Fairy-Wanda could  _not_  be allowed to die. Baby Poof neither, probably. Oh, if only he could be allowed to  _foop_  off to Dimmsdale and check up on them. But unless he, miles above the Earth in Anti-Fairy World, happened to pass directly above some sort of bad-luck trigger when it occurred below, he and all his influence were as good as imprisoned here behind the Barrier until something huge rolled around, like Friday the 13th, the annual Bake-Off of the Angels, a willful wish summoning, the Big Wand draining of power, or the Fairy World Games (Anti-Fairies had scored the most golds two years running- poor, scrawny Pixies had yet to ever manage one).

Oh, he'd attempted escape, of course. Always. And he'd even gotten a fair amount of his people out on multiple occasions. By the nature of its existence, there was always at least one chink to be found along the big green Barrier, and one simply had to track it down and chip away until it burst. That was why he couldn't stop. He could never stop, because it was always there. 574,481 years of imprisonment for Anti-Fairykind, and it was always there. Always obtainable. It was the game of avoiding recapture that never went on for long. Foop alone was allowed free travel as he pleased, and that was purely because Jorgen had decided it was less effort to round him up when he decided to slip away to Earth and cause trouble than it was to lower the Barrier for him every day so he might attend his Fairy school. A Fairy school, like his old man!

That, and less risky, too- Anti-Fairies did have a tendency to swarm the entrance portal on those days when Jorgen actually had come to escort Foop through. Not their smartest course of action, perhaps, but lying in wait for opportunity to knock and then tackling it before it got away was just their style.

It simply wasn't fair. It wasn't as though any of them had asked to be born Anti-Fairies. There was nothing to be done about their instincts.

Foop tugged on his sleeve with both hands, startling Anti-Cosmo out of his thoughts. His son was practically shivering in anticipation, tiny fingers closed around a far larger wrist. "Father, you're a fabulous baker who always works hard when the Bake-Off rolls around each year, are you not? May we please bake a plate of heart-shaped sugar cookies for Auntie Wanda? She's having a bad day because Poof wants to block out the Sun."

Hence the whole rubbish on TV about Earth entering a new Ice Age. Anti-Wanda clasped her hands near her cheek.

"Aw, I think that sounds like the swellest little cutesie idea you could a' pulled out a' your mouth. Why, shore! We'll need these things." One wave of her wand later, she had summoned up a swollen cookbook. It flattened the small anti-fairy to the floor.

"Startled squeals of agony!"

As Foop shrugged the heavy book away, Anti-Cosmo rapped him lightly on his thick skull with the butt of his wand. "Perish the nicey-nice thought. Our kind do  _not_  bake goodies for Fairies without first planning out some dastardly trick to follow it."

Foop rubbed the faint dent in his head and grimaced. "How revolting. Whyever should I want to bake goodies for them?"

"You  _just_  said-" Anti-Cosmo stuck his wand horizontally between his fangs and bit down. "Can you not go two seconds without contradicting yourself, pip? Perhaps Hiccup has been chewing up your memories again."

Offended, Foop beat his way back into the air. "It isn't my fault, Father. My stupid purple creampuff of a nemesis, Poof, is undergoing a vicious struggle of good versus evil of his own right now, and I ought to be getting back there to support him with a pacifier and his favorite yum-yums before I help him return to being his sweet-hearted self, and he and I can be the best of friends, and go on play-dates and to the movies together. I have tickets to the Lau Rell Carnival."

Anti-Cosmo took the baby in both hands and held him away from his body. "I don't know which f _rrr_ ightens me more: Foop going goody-goody, or the Earth- the Earth- the, uh, earth-shattering beauty that is Anti-Wanda, the love of my life." Twelve minutes.

"Aw, you mean it, sweetygums?"

"Cottonclaws, have I ever lied to you?"

"'Sweetygums'?" Foop repeated, struggling to loosen his father's grip on his awkward square body. "'Cottonclaws'?  _Uihl_. Perhaps I'm better off going nice after all. It gets me closer to putting myself out of my own horrid misery."

Anti-Wanda massaged his flat head in just the right spot to make him purr. "It's the Terrific Twosies, babybuns. All Anti-Fairies gotta push through it. Now, let's getcha and your daddy all aproned up for bakin' stuffs."

Anti-Cosmo flinched. "Terribly sorry. What was that now?"

"Ya're gonna be helpin' us, a' course. Ah mean, sure you are, ain't ya, pum'kin?"

Foop's pupils expanded. He held both hands in front of his chin, fingers drooping. His lower lip quivered. "Prettiest pleases, Papa? I don't spend a lot of time with you unless you're scolding me for some nasty trick I pulled and therefore probably deserve my punishment, and I do ever so much wish to engage in the act of mashing up balls of dough and aligning them in neat and perfect rows before we roast the bad feelings out of them in the oven of delightfulness. Yay!" Blink. Blink. Hands to the ears, yanking the sharp tips downwards, "Someone, cause the end of my existence! I  _deserve_  it!"

Eleven minutes and fifteen seconds.

"Have fun with your mother, Foop. She knows her way around the kitchen better than I do anyhow. I have things of my own I must attend to. Namely, my scrying bowl."

Anti-Wanda leaned forward, hugging Foop to her chest. " _C'mon_ , honeyfangs."

"Anti-Wanda, that- that's  _cheat_ ing." And even as he swallowed and whimpered and twisted his fingers back and forth, deep down he couldn't help but love it.

"Just take a break from all yer hard-workin's and yer plannyness ta bond some with yer this here son," she urged, leaning closer a little more.

She never called him 'honeyfangs' unless she really, really wanted something. Not a lot of people could handle holding that kind of power, particularly when they paired it with a quivering lip and a dark curl of hair falling into a soft, pretty face, and she didn't like exploiting it because she knew it made him squirm his big toe into the marble floor. The monocle would come off in his hand, and he'd rub it rapidly against his cravat as he glanced over his shoulder. And then when he looked back, he'd see the batting lashes even with his vision blurry. Deep, deep sincere pink eyes. Anti-Cosmo stared at her through half-lidded eyes himself, his arms folded but fingers twitching, definitely _not_  plucking out his monocle, _not_  checking behind him, then allowed one corner of his mouth to answer Foop.

"Fine. If your 'Terrific Two' instincts are  _rrr_ eally terribly ripping you apart in there, you can make the dratted sugar cookies. But I shall be supervising to ensure you do not give into that stupid attack-my-counterpart-on-sight instinct of yours, child."

"Thank ya, honeyfangs."

He lowered her lips with his forefinger before they could connect. "Not in front of Foop, kittenbreath. Later. There's a time and a place."

"I've changed my mind," Foop decided as he held his ears flat to the sides of his head. "I'm summoning Hiccup and I'll let him stay out. I'll find a way somehow. Just let it all come to smoke."

Anti-Cosmo teleported them all into the sleek black and red kitchen with the tiniest swirl of his wand. They had hardly touched down before Anti-Wanda used hers to  _foop_  up some ridiculous-looking aprons. Foop's read 'Cook' across the pocket. His read 'Nachos' with the 'n' and 's' pointed backwards. Fine.

"Now," he said, lifting his wand again, " _Rrr_ ule number one is that if these cookies are going to Fairy-Cosmo and his family, there is to be no poison nor dynamite nor glass shards nor tomfoolery nor trickery of any kind."

"That makes for a waste of ingredients," grumbled Foop, rubbing his eyes. "Why are we going to do that? Ow!"

"So we don't kill off our hosts, you half-wit twit! Would you very much like to go up in a column of smoke and cease to exist entirely?"

"Why does it always have to be  _my_  fault that Poof spotted my lifesmoke on my way to absorb his big fat core while everyone around him was screaming in alarm and it threw all his thoughts into full-on 'Kill that terrifying thing, whatever it is' mode?"

Anti-Cosmo crossed his arms. "You were fully capable of dodging around him until you sensed him thinking something else, you bumbling swampsnort. You were at  _least_  a minute and a half old. I'd  _rrr_ eally have expected any offspring of mine to know better than to keep charging."

"'I'd really have expected my offspring to know better'," Foop muttered in falsetto. "Father, at the speed I was moving, I was lucky I didn't hurt poor Baby Poof when I so terribly forced myself upon him in that cruel way I did. I didn't even RSVP. I know! I'll write him an apology letter right now! I have the most adorable pink stationery I've been dying to use for years. Er, months. It has a fluffy poodle on it, see? I love glitterpens! They're sparkly on my tongue."

He got a cuff over one corner for that. The pad of paper and the stolen purple pen on its chain disappeared with a pop.

"Boys!" Anti-Wanda slammed a bag of flour down on the table. "Y'all need ta learn ta play nicer more, h'yuck."

Still rubbing his sore corner, Foop protested, "But we're Anti-Fairies! They're our mortal enemies! Why are we even baking cookies to begin with?"

The High Count found himself upturning his palms again. "Because  _you_  wanted to, you infuriating little boob. Can't you even remember what you said and keep your thoughts straight?" One hand slid to his face as, bracing his elbow against the ebony-black counter, he summoned a dark mixing bowl into existence.

Foop's eyes rolled around several times. "Oh, right. I seem to remember feeling a strong desire to participate in that revolting sort of thing. I'll bet they'll taste delicious, though. Sweeter than a spoonful of honey dipped through a river of whipped-cream and purified by a unicorn horn." And he hugged himself before  _foop_ ing up a donut.

Ten minutes.

"Now, Foop." Anti-Cosmo turned his wand horizontal again, teeth straining against one another. "You're a smart young chap who surely pays attention in school like a good, intelligent drake. What must magical c _rrr_ eatures such as ourselves always keep in mind when it comes to food, hm?"

"Ooh, ooh!" Foop fluttered up and down in place, slinging his blue hand back and forth through the air. "Pick me, Father, pick me! I know it! I know!"

"Yes, the silly little pup in the purple parka and the black apron floating in the f _rrr_ ont row."

"Magic is not a very filling substance to eat, it tastes like the smoke of our ancestors who died to provide us with our powers, and magicking up food and eating it is just doubly wasteful and disrespectful to them."

"Correct." Anti-Cosmo patted his head, prompting the little anti-fairy to purr again. "Now, who knows why teleporting food doesn't count as magic-touching it? Anybody here?"

Foop's hand shot up again- so quickly that he shot up with it halfway to the ceiling. Anti-Cosmo tapped a claw to his chin and pretended to think for a long time before he gestured with the tip of his wand towards the gasping Anti-Wanda.

"Aw, so like, it's 'cuz teleportation stuff an' flyin' 'round uses pink magic just like mah eyes, and different from th'other kinds, pink magic always comes from inside a' us 'stead a' from our counterhost's core bubbles, and so it just don't count the same way. Pink magic durn't leave dust or smoke when you're done playin' with it."

"What?" Foop clutched his hands to his chest as his violet eyes filled with hurt. "Why would you ask Mother that when I had the answer?"

"Why, Foop, you had your turn already, silly bean. And which of you knows why I'm going to ask you both to bring me all the baking ingredients out from the pantry rather than  _anti-poof_ ing them out myself?"

Both of the anti-fairies flapped their wings more fiercely and strained their arms and their voices for his attention. Smirking softly, Anti-Cosmo leaned back in the air as they fought it out.

"Whichever wand does the magic has to cough up the dough to pay for it. Like my scrumptious sugar cookie dough that I'm going to be baking for Auntie Wanda!"

Anti-Wanda blinked. "My name's Anti-Wanda."

"Co _rrr_ ect yet again, pip."

His wife snapped her fingers. "Aw, shoot. Ah thought it was 'cuz the Fairy-Cosmo's got his weird broken mutant thing and if he don't get his nursing milk wit' e'ery meal a' his, he can't use his magic and then you can't pull it through y'all's matching cores."

The eye behind his monocle twitched. "No, sweetest, that's not why. Foop, b _rrr_ ing me an egg and the ½ measuring cups and teaspoons. I'll get the sugar myself- I don't trust either of you to resist burying your faces in it. You can find a spatula for me, dearest. Unless, of course, you've devoured all of them. Tally ho, Anti-Fairywinkles!"

Out came the butter, the cream, the baking soda, the vanilla, the powdered sugar, and the almond extract. Anti-Cosmo snatched the tray from Anti-Wanda and slammed it down on the counter. He lifted his wand. "All right, now all we do is take some of this, a bit of this, throw in a pinch of cream-"

"Can I do some? Please, father, please?"

"Er…"

Seven minutes. If Foop knew where his 'uncle' and 'auntie' were, Anti-Cosmo had to get him out there fast to watch their backs. He hovered by the oven, biting the tips of his claws and glancing between his wife and child and the pocket watch in his hand.

Six minutes.

Five minutes.

"All right, very good, the both of you. Give me that. I say, this is good stuff. Yes, and now we spin it around real fast for about ten seconds, manipulate it with pink magic to split it into balls, and here we go."

Foop cheered as wet dough chunks rained down on the tray. If he was punching the air with excitement or flapping his hands or something, Anti-Cosmo didn't notice. Levitating twenty-four balls of multiple mixed-up ingredients all at the same time was exhausting. It wasn't as though between himself and Cosmo Prime, he'd gotten the lion's share of magic.

"All done," he said, releasing his wand so that it floated in the air beside him (Thank you, pumice). "Now, all there is left to do is simply shove it in the oven, and p _rrr_ esto! Better let me handle this part, dear."

"Aw, but Ah like gettin' all the steam blown in mah face."

"Why can't we bake them with warm magic?" Foop asked as he groped for the cookie tray, like they didn't teach the basics of Anti-Fairy powers in his Fairy school. "I want to fry these insulting things to cinders at a million degrees and stomp their crumbs into the dirt."

"Is that your attempt at some sick joke while you're in this do-goody state, child? You have to put confectioneries such as these on 375 degrees before anything at all useful happens to them. Anti-Fairy magic cannot  _rrr_ oast above boiling temperature any more than Fairy magic can freeze below 32." Definitely  _not_  a million degrees. You would fry the magic out of it. Who was raising this kid?

"Ooh, like the planet is about to freeze while Poof continues to block the Sun! Which reminds me, I've already made reservations to go skating once the world becomes a beautiful frozen wasteland of wintery fun and cheer. Hoorah for coupons and online discounts!"

"The huh?" Anti-Wanda asked.

"It's nothing, darling." When Anti-Cosmo next turned around, he found that Foop lay on his stomach across the shiny counter, his tiny arms wrapped as tightly around his square head as they could go. Shattered eggshells, spilled flour, and bottles of pink food coloring and sugar sprinkles spread around him, fluttering further away with every panicked flap of his leathery wings.

"I don't know what I'm  _saying_  anymore! I'm not in control of my own tongue!"

"Aw, baby." After setting down the lemonade pitcher she'd just drawn from the fridge, Anti-Wanda flew to his side. Plucking him up, she settled herself upside-down from one of the thin rafters.

"I'll be a laughingstock," he whimpered, burying his blue face in the soft pudge of her belly. "Father's armies will never respect me again. I'll lose my heirship to the High Count seat, my dignity, Anti-Marigold's sarcastic and sometimes revolting if very much appreciated affections- everything."

Three minutes. Still shifting his gaze between them and the dough blobs inside the oven, Anti-Cosmo made a rolling motion with his hand.

"Everybody's got silly bits a' their babyhood, hon. In fact, everybody's got silliness their whole lives. Ain't nobody who hasn't never felt embarrashamed afore. Why, only yesterday Ah near burned the castle down when I tried fittin' one of them delicious throw pillows in the toaster."

"Mother, you attempt that every morning."

"Yes," Anti-Cosmo agreed dryly, "he's spot-on. You  _rrr_ eally should know better than this."

"See what I mean? I got the sillies too." Anti-Wanda hugged Foop to her chest, even when his pointy corners bit into her skin. "No matter how many mistakes ya make, no matter how many people point an' laugh and never let ya live yourself down, you'll always be mah evil wittle baby."

"I don't need your stifling affections, Mother!" he snapped, kicking and wriggling. "I am independent! Like a beautiful snowflake spinning around in the sky."

"I know, sugarkiss. You got egg in your hair. When ya get back, let's wash y'off in the tub. Maybe Ah can actu'lly get you ta take one now, huh?"

He lit up. "Can we make it a bubblebath? With a rubber duckie and foam letters that stick to the wall?"

Two minutes. His fingers twitched.

"All right, these are baked enough. Yes, yes, come on down from there, you two, yes, very good. Toss me the least-chewed of those hot pads behind you, Anti-Wanda."

"They're done already?" Foop asked, a note of suspicion chasing off his sickening sweetness yet again as he burned his apron to ashes with a shake of his bottle.

"We own a magical oven, obviously."

"But it was my understanding that-"

Anti-Cosmo placed his palms behind Foop's back and pushed him towards his mother, who had a plate just ready to be layered with cookies. A wonder she'd managed to find one that didn't have an enormous bite taken out of the left side. "Now, let's get you off with those to your Fairy-Cosmo and Fairy-Wanda."

"I was going to bring some of Mother's infamous super-salt lemonade-"

"Ah a'ready got it for ya in a big fat pitcher right here, babycake. It's e'en got ice!"

"Yes, get on with you. Get on now."

"Thank you, Mother. This will be a simply delightful treat for them on this unfortunate day. Be back soon, straight after I deliver these to Auntie and Uncle. Ta-ta!" With a second rattle of his bottle, the rosewater inside sloshing, he vanished in a cold shower of pink embers.

Anti-Cosmo leaned his hands and chest against the counter and released a long sigh through his fangs. "I do ever so much hope they'll all be okay."

"Aw, they's gonna be purty fine," Anti-Wanda insisted, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed his ear. "Thank ya for helpin' us with all a' that, even though ya din't really wanna. I think we got done much faster with ya supervisin' the whole processing."

He intertwined his fingers with hers and sighed. "I also hope he comes back soon. I loathe the not-knowing while he's out."

"Well, 'loathe' sounds like 'love' and ya love me, so you got that ta be happy about. H'yuck."

"Well, yes. Come on- Toss me my wand and we'll get this kitchen spic and span before our little angel gets back, pip pip."

After taking a bite out of a stick of butter and the knife, she nodded and did as he requested.

"This is rather nice though," he admitted as she shut the door to the pantry. He bobbed beside her, snaking his arm around her waist. "Isn't it? For once, he was actually paying us some degree of proper  _rrr_ espect. It's like we're actually a family. How long do the Terrific Twos last again?"

"I'd say 'bout eleven more hours, guessin' from how much he was shiftin'. Later his relapses is gonna all get fewer and the goodness'll be settin' in."

"Did your 'Twos' ever end, dearest?"

Anti-Wanda tried to remember if they had. "Well, a'course. It's only s'posed to last twelve hours, so… I'm older than that."

He brought his free hand around in front and squeezed hers. "I know."

"Aw," Foop cooed as he went in for the kiss. Anti-Cosmo choked on air, whirling about and brushing frantically at his cravat.

"Oh- oh, look at you. You're back already. That was quick. Ahem. Yes, well. How went your sickening little peace offering? Did they very much enjoy the cookies?"

Foop shrugged. "Sadly, my cookies had an accident, and no one had the opportunity to try any of them. But Poof decided not to block the Sun anymore! Earth is going to thaw into a summery paradise of shining flowers, which is one of my most favorite things. Later, can we go swimming in the Bahamas? I've never gone swimming in something other than the acid pits before."

"And your Auntie and Uncle? How are they?"

"All home with adorable Poof and sweet Timmy Turner again, snuggly bugs with rugs." Unclasping his hands from near his cheek, he stretched his arms up for a hug. "May I pretty please have that bubble bath now, Mother? And then I want to bring Great Uncle H.P. a bunch of shiny office supplies I found in one of the old storerooms ages ago and mix up a huge fresh batch of Mother's best wand-cleaner for Uncle Jorgen too! Yay!"

Anti-Cosmo adjusted his monocle. "Well, seeing as our c _rrr_ isis has been averted and I am no longer needed here, I shall retire to my chambers. I do not wish to be disturbed."

As Anti-Wanda scooped Foop into her arms, she tickled his chin and said, "Ah think I 'member when your silly daddy had his Terrific Twos. Ah was barely fourteen thousand…"

He stopped at the door, clutching the frame as a grimace oozed across his face. "Dearest, this isn't  _that_ story, is it? That's what it was? I had the- No, not in front of Foop…"

"Oh, please tell the story, Mother!"

She giggled and booped their son on his snubby round nose. "Well, your daddy was the youngest of all th'anti-fairies. They say that Fairy-Cosmo was one a' the worst babies ever ta go through the Terrible Twos, and a' course, your daddy was one a' the nicey-nicest ta go down in the history books on our side a' the Divide. He rescued the city of Atlanticus from bein' stuck underwater-"

"I didn't do any such thing! She- she- she doesn't remember right!"

"He's right. Ah left out the part 'bout how he rescued it eight times."

Anti-Cosmo drew his claws down his cheeks. "No, no- please!"

"He paid e'erybody's soup'n sandwiches forward, he cleaned up the whole place where the weird ol' green anti-fairy lived, he donated all his old books and taught the other pups who din't get ta go to the Fairy Spellementary School like him how ta do readin', he bought all the lemonade from mah and mah sissy's lemmyade stand-"

"That was some other Anti-Cosmo. It  _is_  a pretty common name."

"And of course, we can't forget 'bout how he swore his bindin' oath that he would never, ever, no matter what happened,  _ever_  let anythin' happen to any a' the adorable li'l-"

As they headed off down one of the halls, Anti-Cosmo zipped after her, hands clasped and eyes wide. "No, Anti-Wanda, please! Don't tell him that part. Darling, you  _prom_ ised. Come on, cottonclaws! Cinnamon dumpling! Unlucky charm! Lambcake! Cherrystem! Dimpledip! Larkadoodle! Kittenbreath! Please, my dignity- that's not fair! Anti-Wanda,  _come back!"_


End file.
